Tales from the Storytellers' Daughter: Provenance of Legends
by Reine de la Mort
Summary: Dying really sucks. It sucks even more when you wake up again afterwards, in a world you'd previously believed to be entirely fictional.
1. Welcome to Eorzea!

_Dedicated to Monty Oum (1981-2015). In life, his work brought me hours of joy and much inspiration, as it did for countless others. In death, he taught me the importance of finishing what you loved enough to start, because you never know when you won't be able to anymore._

 **Disclaimer: Of course _Final Fantasy XIV,_ and all its expansions are not my intellectual property. This is fanfiction. The only thing that's actually mine is the text of this story.**

 **Author's Notes for this story, if they apply to the story as a whole and not only to the specific chapter they appear in, can be found on my profile. If multiple reviewers ask the same question, and I think it's sufficiently important and can't be answered within the story itself, I shall answer it in an FAQ for this story there.**

 **First uploaded: 2016/09/03**

 **Edited: 2017/01/01 - Typo corrections and name additions. | 2017/12/07 - Even more typo corrections.  
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 **Chapter 1: Welcome to Eorzea!  
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* * *

 _Dying really sucks._

 _Not that I remember my death in any great detail. What little I do recall of my last moments as a human girl on Earth, consists of extremely blurred vision, some incoherent shouting, and a whole lot of pain before everything went dark for the final time. It's a little odd, seeing as how I can remember everything from my first life in greater clarity now, than when I was actually on Earth, but I suppose the shock of dying messed with my brain's ability to record memories._

 _As for how I felt about dying? I wasn't really feeling much of anything at all while dying, really. Shock again, I'd say. Getting hit by a vehicle going fast enough to fling your body across the road would be sufficient cause to go into shock, wouldn't it? Well, it killed me, so I'll say it is._

 _Much of my emotional reaction to dying came after I woke up again. Some people would like to believe there's an afterlife, although what form the afterlife actually takes, differs with each person's interpretation, of course. If there is indeed an afterlife – and I very much doubt that where I woke up after dying is it – I didn't see it. The transition from my first life to this second one was rude and simple: I died in a lot of pain, and then woke up again in a lot of pain, in a different body, in a completely different world._

 _So yeah, dying really sucks. I was torn from my safe little slice of Earth, never got the chance to grow old, see Big Bang in concert, or find out how_ RWBY _is supposed to end, and thrown straight into Eorzea, without any warning or even so much as an explanation of how I got here or what I was meant to do. But, that was the beginning of my story here: filled with confusion, terror, and frustration.  
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 _ _ _ _ _ _Sixth Astral Era -___ 1572,_ 3rd Astral_ Moon, 15th Sun  
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* * *

When I woke, it was to a quiet darkness. For a small mercy, my waking wasn't sudden, and instead I rose slowly into consciousness again. My awareness of my surroundings came first through the sensation of lying on my back in a warm, soft bed, in a cool, quiet room. I kept my eyes shut as I sorted through the haze of sleepy confusion that was clogging up my mind, and tried to recall what I had been doing before ending up here.

I remembered the accident, though the fact that it had killed me didn't sink in until later. The first sign that something was seriously wrong, was when a wave of memories that were most distinctly not mine washed through me, of trekking through the Twelveswood, and to Coerthas, with two Miqo'te that these memories insisted were my parents, but _couldn't be-_

I stopped myself there, my eyes snapping open. _Miqo'te? The Twelveswood? Coerthas?_ Half of me was panicking at the presence of memories that couldn't have been real, that could only have come from a video game, but felt as real as anything I remembered from my life on Earth, while the other half of me was desperately trying to figure out where I had been taken to, having recalled praying to Menphina's stone with _Mama and Papa, and the red moon was falling, cracking open in the sky, and out came..._

The second sign that something was seriously wrong was when I had finally grown too agitated to lie still, and I tried to sit up, only to whine weakly as pain like I had never felt before shot through my spine. It seeped into my chest and gut, effectively immobilising me. I instinctively recognised my surroundings as the guest room in Uncle Tango's house, but before I could even wonder who Uncle Tango was and how I knew him, the door opened and in rushed a woman I immediately knew as Aunt Ailala.

And of course, that was the third sign that something was seriously wrong, because Aunt Ailala was, quite clearly, a _Lalafell._ It was there that I hit my limit; with shock both physical and emotional slamming into my brain, I promptly fainted from the half-sitting position I had managed to push myself into.

* * *

 _ _ _ _ _Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 3rd Astral Moon, 16th Sun  
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* * *

When I woke again, it was to the same room, though much brighter, and the sight of Aunt Ailala in an armchair next to the bed I laid in, working on some embroidery. It soon became apparent that she'd only been doing it for something to keep her hands busy, for when I stirred, she set it aside and turned to me immediately, her worried frown breaking into a smile of relief.

"Siesta dear, you're finally awake!" she said, leaning towards me eagerly for a frantic once-over. "How are you feeling?"

I could only stare mutely at her, fighting to sort through the muddled mess of questions I had, such as, _how the hells do I know you, how are you a Lalafell,_ and _what happened to me?_ At length, I gave up and let instinct take over, trying to find my voice. Instead, all that emerged from my throat was a rasp, and I realised I was more thirsty than I could ever remember being. Thankfully, she realised this as well, without me having to say anything, and poured me a goblet of water from the pitcher that sat on the bedside table. I accepted the goblet and drank from it lying down, relieved when the motions didn't bring me any more pain. The most I felt was a dull ache in my chest, but I could handle it.

"Aunt Ailala," I said, and immediately part of me was struck by the fact that my voice was different - much higher-pitched, while the only difference the other half of me registered was that I sounded a little raspier than usual, "what happened? Where are Mama and Papa? Is Uncle Tango here too?" Questions that weren't coming from me, but from the half of me that was somehow familiar with all my surroundings and Aunt Ailala herself. I didn't miss the way her face fell as she tried to decide how to answer; clearly, the answers to my questions weren't good ones. After a moment, she pulled herself together and smiled at me again. She was trying to be reassuring, but the strain in her smile had the opposite effect.

"Not now, child, you have been gravely injured, and you must rest and recover your strength for now. All your questions shall be answered in time," she said, and her gaze fell to the bedsheets as she tried to decide what else to tell me. In the end, she merely blinked, looking at me again and saying, "Doubtless you must be hungry - you've been asleep for nigh on a sennight! The soup we've been trickling down your throat is hardly enough for a convalescing patient. I shall have the kitchen prepare something for you."

With that, she slipped off her armchair and hurried to the door, shutting it behind her quietly. In the silence, I rolled over to face the wall and buried my head under the pillow again, wincing at the throb of pain that accompanied the motions. Thankfully, it didn't become anything worse - I noted that someone had bandaged my torso while I was unconscious, presumably to keep me from aggravating my injuries - and I was free to sort out my thoughts in solitude.

The first question that came to mind was: _Where in the seven hells am I?_ That had already been answered; I was in one of Uncle Tango's guest rooms. More specifically, the one I always stayed in whenever my parents and I came to visit him. Unfortunately, the answer only brought with it more questions: _Uncle Tango is a Lalafell, he lives in Ul'dah, this is Ul'dah, Ul'dah is in Thanalan, and Thanalan is in_ Eorzea _, what- how?_ I shut down that train of thought before I could begin panicking again. I was in an unfamiliar situation, in an unfamiliar place, with memories and instincts that weren't my own but somehow didn't feel foreign in my mind at all. Freaking out wasn't going to do me any good.

So I was somehow in Ul'dah. What had I been doing before I came to be here? Two sets of memories again came to answer that question: one of being hit by a vehicle I couldn't remember, while crossing the road, and subsequently being flung into the air, before impacting against something else that had caused me a lot of pain. The other memory was equally disturbing: of praying for salvation in front of a rock, into which was carved a mark that I knew as Menphina's symbol, watching the red moon cracking open, and _something_ hitting the land. The ground had shaken - _Gods, we felt it all the way from Coerthas!_ \- and the last impression I got from my memory was of something slamming into my head with enough force to knock me out, and a cry from a voice that I knew as _Mama's.  
_

I curled up into a ball at that. I had just witnessed the beginning of the Calamity, the beginning of the Seventh Umbral Era in Eorzea, in the flesh, and somehow lived through it. I had also just been in a road accident that may or may not have killed me. The thought that all this was merely a weird dying dream crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. Everything felt too real, for one, and I'd never experienced a lucid dream that I could remember - and if I'd had lucid dreams before, I would've probably remembered them. My dreams had never felt this clear, in any case, and there was the presence of these memories, of an entire life I had never lived, as clear and vivid as my own memories of my life on Earth.

It was then that I asked myself the obvious question: _Who am I?_ The answers came simultaneously: I was Alexandria Fei, a human girl of twenty, and at the same time, I was Siesta Fiesta, a Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te girl approaching her fourteenth summer. I paused at that. _Siesta Fiesta? Really? Who on Earth names their child something like that... but then again, this isn't Earth, is it?_ The stark reminder that _this wasn't Earth_ , that I wasn't in Kansas anymore, so to speak, should've shaken me more than it did, but this was all familiar to _Siesta_ , who had obviously been born and raised in Eorzea. And at that moment, Siesta was far more concerned about what had happened to her parents in the wake of the Calamity.

That was easy to answer, based on what I had seen. I couldn't remember anything after being knocked out, but I had been unconscious for a sennight according to what Aunt Ailala had said, they were nowhere in sight, and she had refused to answer my questions. The only thing that would've kept Mama and Papa from being here at my side was if they were injured... or dead. The grief and panic that welled up in me at that conclusion was surprising. These people were at once both mere strangers, and everything in the world to me. _What's gonna happen to me now? What do I do?_

Thankfully, my train of thought was interrupted by the door opening again, and I straightened out from under the pillow, rolling over onto my back again, to see Aunt Ailala. I was reminded of my injuries when the various aches that I had ignored flared up, making my breath hitch. She frowned at my wince as she approached the bed again.

"The servants will come by with a tray soon. Truly, how are you feeling, Siesta? We only managed to get a physician to examine you once, while you were unconscious. You must tell me if you do not feel fully healed," she said, seating herself again. I breathed in deep to steady myself, and slowly sat up, feeling much weaker than usual. But, I supposed, that was normal for someone who'd been in a coma, recovering from injuries that I could only guess at the scale of. I needed answers, and fast.

"I... my chest hurts, and my back. My ribs too. Aunt Ailala, please, tell me, what's happened? Where are Mama and Papa?" I said, fixing her with my best pleading gaze. She stared back at me, her expression conflicted, before she finally sighed in capitulation.

"What is the last thing you recall?" she asked, and now I could see just how much worry and exhaustion she had been hiding. There was just the slightest slump to her shoulders, her head was bowed, and she looked years older than usual. It was a stark contrast to the dignified, refined woman I had always known her as.

It was my turn to frown as I dug deeper into the unfamiliar memories, struggling to recall anything I had missed earlier. "Mama, Papa, and I... we were in Coerthas, praying to Menphina's stone. And... and I saw Dalamud cracking open, and there was something that made the ground shake. But then something knocked me out. I don't remember anything after that," I said. In truth, I was merely waiting for her to confirm my conclusions; I hoped she wouldn't lie to me.

Aunt Ailala nodded sadly, closing her eyes. I idly noted that they were bright blue, and had dark shadows under them, though they weren't as apparent on a Lalafell's face as they would've been on someone of another race. "You witnessed the Calamity, Siesta. We yet know little of what happened at the Carteneau Flats, but 'tis clear that Eorzea has been changed forever," she said, sighing again. "You and your parents were wounded in Coerthas, but you most of all, it seems. Your parents... they gave their lives to heal you and bring you to Ul'dah. I am sorry, but they have passed on to Thal's realm now."

Hearing it from her just made everything even more horribly real, and the pain that shot through me then had nothing to do with my injuries. I squeezed my eyes shut, and clenched my hands in my lap, trying to fight back the tears. I felt her lean forward and place her hands over my fists, patting them in a show of comfort I didn't remember ever receiving from her before.

"Worry not, Siesta. Tango and I owe your mother his life, everything we have gained in the past twenty years, and everything we shall gain for the rest of his life. You shall be well-cared for, with us, as long as you live," she said, and that was a better comfort than anything else she could have said. It was a guarantee that I wasn't completely alone in the world now, at least. I took another deep breath, this one shaky, before I nodded and lifted my eyes to meet hers, blinking back my tears.

"Where are their bodies? I would... I'd like to see them, please. If only one last time," I said, and managed to keep my voice from quavering, although it was subdued. Aunt Ailala's gaze fell from my face again.

"They have been prepared for the funeral rites. 'Twas your mother who managed to teleport you and herself to our doorstep, while also bearing your father's body. She told me of what transpired in Coerthas, and her final wish was to be cremated with her husband, and the ashes scattered to the winds, that they might watch over you wherever you go, child," she said, and attempted another comforting smile for me. "Your mother's last words were to you, Siesta. That she would love you and be with you, always."

I nodded again, and decided I needed some time alone to process everything that had happened. "Um," I said, then realised I needed to use the toilet, "I'd like to go use the privy, please." I paused at the choice of words that had most decidedly come from Siesta.

Aunt Ailala drew back and chuckled softly, her smile becoming a little more genuine. "Of course, of course! You would certainly need it after a sennight abed. For a mercy, the plumbing still works, though it's been damaged. So much of Ul'dah has been brought to ruin, and the casualty reports mount ever higher by the day, to say nothing of the scant news we hear from other regions," she said, and her smile faded. "Do you require any aid? The servants ought to be here soon enough." I shook my head; the last thing I needed was for anyone to follow me.

"No, I think I can manage, thank you." So saying, I swept the bedsheets aside, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The movements took more effort out of me than I'd anticipated, and I slowed in getting to my feet. It was clear my muscles had begun to atrophy even though it'd only been a week, but I managed to stand on my own after a bit, with Aunt Ailala watching me concernedly. The rush of blood to my limbs brought about an unexpected dizzy fit, and I grabbed the back of her armchair to steady myself.

"Siesta-"

"I'm all right, just dizzy," I said, trying to smile reassuringly at her. She nodded slowly in reply, and turned to the door as it opened again, to admit a Hyuran maidservant bearing a tray of food. The mere sight made my stomach growl, and the maid brightened upon seeing us.

"Begging your pardons for the delay, milady, but the food's here now. Miss Siesta, it's certainly good to see you up and about, but you're lookin' a bit peaky there. Can't say that I blame you, though, what with everythin' that's happened now," she said, moving to set the tray on the bedside table. It was laden with a bowl of some kind of meat stew, along with a loaf of bread and a mug of milk. Somehow, I'd been unaware of my hunger until then, but the need for the _privy_ was rather more pressing.

"Excellent, thank you, Mina. Please assist Siesta to the bathroom," Aunt Ailala said, and despite my attempts to protest, Mina was quick to grab my hand and pull my arm over her shoulders. Carefully, she guided me to the door and into a hallway as familiar to me as the guest room. The walk to the bathroom was hardly far, at least, and she helped me into the privy - next door to the bathroom itself - before shutting the door behind her.

"Would you like a bath, Miss Siesta?" Mina called through the door, and I was struck by the sheer absurdity of indulging in a bath when the _Calamity_ had just taken place a few days ago. My incredulity was quickly superseded by the realisation that I had been bedridden for a week, and needed a bath badly.

"Yes, thank you, though only after my meal, please," I said, turning to examine the room.

"Certainly, milady. I'll go run the bath now; please call me if you require further aid," she said, but I barely heard her, too busy taking in my surroundings. They were nothing new to Siesta, of course; she'd stayed in this mansion - and it was a mansion, from the memories that came to mind of it - and used this privy countless times before. But it was completely new to me, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it almost indistinguishable from any modern, 21st-century bathroom on Earth. The lamp on the wall was lit with oil, rather than electricity, but other than that, the privy, sink, and toiletries were everything I was used to. When I noticed the mirror above the sink, though, all thoughts of relieving myself momentarily fled my mind.

 _Might as well get it over with._ I exhaled slowly, then stepped in front of the mirror to look at myself.

Jet black hair fell in soft waves to brush the tops of my shoulders, and wide eyes of the same shade stared back at me, set in a face with a complexion as pale as milk or cream. _Pale as a moogle's fur_ , Papa had once said to me. I'd inherited his hair and eye colour, but I could recall a few occasions when he'd mentioned how I'd inherited Mama's complexion, facial features, and build. A beauty mark, entirely my own, sat on the top of my left cheekbone, to the side and just below my eye, and a small nose and mouth, with naturally red lips, completed the set. Under better circumstances, the face I saw in the mirror could easily have been called pretty. Now, however, I merely looked gaunt, ill, tired, and hollow-eyed.

What caught my attention most of all, however, were the two large cat ears, covered in fur as dark as my hair, sitting on top of my head. I really shouldn't have been as surprised as I was; both of Siesta's parents were Miqo'te and I'd already identified myself as a Miqo'te. But it wasn't until I'd seen myself in the mirror and beheld this face that was simultaneously so alien and completely natural to me, that it began to sink in. I turned to look behind myself. A tail sprouted from the end of my spine, covered in the same black fur as my ears, and peeked out from the end of the knee-length cotton shift I was wearing; it hadn't been made to accommodate a tail. I tried to wriggle it, and it moved. It looked to be a little longer than my forearm.

I turned back to the mirror, closing my eyes and pushing down the hysteria that was threatening me again. I was somehow a Miqo'te, in Ul'dah, fresh out of the Calamity, and _none of this made any godsdamned sense._ Even my vocabulary was subtly changing, and I tightly gripped the edge of the marble counter that the sink was set in, trying to ground myself.

The need for the toilet made itself known again, and I let it distract me. Thankfully, there was toilet paper, though it came in large sheets as opposed to a roll, and after completing my necessities, I made my way to the bathroom for Mina's help in getting back to the guest room. And as I sat down to the first solid meal my body had consumed in over a week, the only things keeping me calm were Aunt Ailala's reassuring presence and her promise that I wasn't alone in this strange new realm that I now found myself in.

* * *

 _ _ _Sixth Astral Era - 1572,_ 3rd Astral _ Moon, 18th Sun  
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* * *

On the third day - or sun, as some people called it in Eorzea - after I woke up, Uncle Tango came to visit me, and I got my first look at him in the flesh. He hurried into the guest room, where I was taking a late lunch alone at the table. I was still too weak to move around the mansion proper, but I had the strength to sit up for proper meals and slowly walk myself to the bathroom, even if the movement still hurt. The physician that had been called in to examine me after my bath, on the day of my awakening, had declared me to be recovering well, to Aunt Ailala's visible relief. Not being completely helpless was a small comfort; I had never been truly bedridden before, in either of my lives, and I suspected that being confined to the bed, without even being able to look out the window, would have driven me mad, at least from boredom.

As for Uncle Tango, I rose to greet him as he came in, or tried to, before another flare of protest from my ribs forced me to stop prematurely. According to Aunt Ailala's accounts of what Mama had told her, as well as the physician's own examinations, I'd suffered a concussion, a skull fracture, spinal injuries, broken ribs and a cracked sternum, as well as internal bleeding and minor wounds to my limbs. All wounds sustained from being trapped in the rapid landscape shifts that had overtaken Coerthas in the Calamity. In short, it was a miracle I was alive, and I'd only been saved through Papa's sacrifice, using his own soul's aether to fuel Mama's healing. And even then, healing me had left Mama nothing for her own injuries, which were what had ultimately killed her after teleporting us all to the aetheryte shard in Uncle Tango's front garden. Though I was certain that teleporting through an aetheryte network that had been destabilised by the Calamity had helped none.

"Siesta," Uncle Tango said, striding up to me and pulling me gently back into my seat, "do not strain yourself. 'Tis truly well that you are awake, but you are still recovering from your wounds!" He moved to climb up into the other chair at the table, and fell silent to look closer at me.

"Uncle Tango," I said in greeting, and settled for a nod. Once again, I found myself wondering at the absurdity of such a name, but "Tango Jango" was a far more plausible and normal name for a Plainsfolk Lalafell than "Siesta Fiesta" was for a Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te. Then again, I faintly recalled a conversation Siesta had once had with Mama, in which it had been explained that Uncle Tango had named her at birth, and that he and Aunt Ailala were Siesta's - or my - godparents. While I had always known him as "Uncle Tango", a kind-hearted, middle-aged Lalafell that was nonetheless still in the prime of his life, and who had always welcomed Mama, Papa, and me into his home with his family, I had also often heard of the man sitting before me, described as "the wealthiest man in Ul'dah" in passing. It certainly explained the luxuries and care I had been afforded in his home, even right now, just after the Calamity.

What confused me, and even had me slightly on guard, however, was the memory of a lesson I'd had with Papa, in which he'd taught me about the political structures of the various city-states. Uncle Tango sat on the Syndicate of Ul'dah, as the chairman of the Gold Sands bank, and as Sultana Nanamo Ul Namo's only political supporter, other than the Flame General Raubahn Aldynn. And that made absolutely no sense, because in _Final Fantasy XIV_ as I'd played it back on Earth, Tango Jango had most decidedly not been a character anywhere in the game. He hadn't even been mentioned, nor had Ailala Aila - or their sons, whom I suddenly recalled with surprise. How could I have forgotten the men who were my brothers in all but blood? Bango Zango and Cila Zila. I frowned inwardly. Cila hadn't been in the game either, as far as I knew, but Bango Zango had been present as the vice-chairman of the Brugaire Consortium in Limsa Lominsa. Nothing had ever been said about him being related to a member of the Syndicate.

Nonetheless, as Siesta knew it, the last change in Syndicate membership had been in 1570 of the Sixth Astral Era, when Raubahn had famously earned his Syndicate seat, from the bloodsands of the Coliseum, and Uncle Tango had sat on the Syndicate since before the sultana had assumed the throne. Apart from him and Raubahn - the Royalists who supported the sultana - the members of the Syndicate consisted of the Monetarists, who cared only for maintaining their own wealth and position in Ul'dah's status quo: Chairman Lolorito Nanarito of the East Aldenard Trading Company, Prince Teledji Adeledji of the Mirage Trust, Prioress Dewlala Dewla of the Milvaneth Sacrarium, and Chief Foreman Fyrgeiss Loetkilbsyn of the Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern. It seemed that Uncle Tango had taken Godbert Manderville's place on the Syndicate, which had originally been Director Eolande Quiveron's seat... or perhaps it would be the other way around. Had Godbert made enough of his fortune to sit on the Syndicate yet? I couldn't recall any mention being made of the Manderville Gold Saucer being built, in Siesta's memories. It was likely that the resort hadn't been built yet, that it would only come about in the years following the Calamity.

In any case, the part of me that had lived in and known Eorzea as reality all her life, reminded me again that this was no longer a video game, no longer mere pixels on a screen. I couldn't possibly expect everything to be exactly the same as I had known it in the game, because details here weren't going to be decided neatly by a team of writers. Besides, playing as the Warrior of Light - even multiple times - didn't mean I knew everything about Eorzea, or had even explored all of it. I dismissed my thoughts for now and returned my attention to Uncle Tango, who appeared to have completed his examination and was now simply gazing at me, his expression full of sorrow.

Seeing his sheer grief for his lost friends, so openly expressed, only brought back my own for everything I had lost, all the feelings I had been trying to suppress in order to maintain some semblance of control over myself. I took a mouthful of apple juice, swallowed past the lump in my throat, and broke the silence. "It's good to see you, Uncle. How have you been?"

He jerked out of his staring at that, then laughed bitterly. "That you should be inquiring after me, child. I am not the one who has been bedridden and unconscious for a sennight," he said, and then he visibly steeled himself. "I must apologise; we did not expect you to recover so soon, given your injuries, and so I gave the order for your parents' bodies to be cremated, two suns before you awoke. Had we waited just a while longer, you would have been able to pay your final respects."

I shook my head, saying, "You did what you thought was best, Uncle Tango. Your concerns stretch far beyond one wounded girl and her parents. As you can see, I am recovering quite well, thank you." I didn't want to linger too long on the subject of my parents. That way lay madness and despair.

He nodded slowly, taking in my folded hands on the tabletop. "You need not thank me for aught, Siesta. As Ailala has doubtless told you, you are welcome in our home for as long as you live. I swore to myself, one score and five summers ago, that I would repay your mother the kindness she showed me in saving my life, and I will gladly care for you as my own," he said, and just like with Aunt Ailala, the simple guarantee from him greatly reassured me. "Even if your mother had not asked, I would have done it. Your parents were not mere business partners to me; I counted them among my oldest and dearest friends."

I shut my eyes at how easily he'd slipped into the past tense when talking about Mama and Papa. I was still processing my new status as an orphan; her parents had been the two pillars of Siesta's entire life. They hadn't simply raised her, they'd taught her everything she knew about the world and how to survive in it. Her entire education, from reading and writing, to fighting and crafting, had come from their lessons.

"But still, Siesta, I must ask... do you wish to live here in my household?" he said, and I blinked at him in surprise. _Where else would I go?_ My lips parted to ask, but he elaborated before I could, "Your mother spoke to me a few times, of her family. If you desire to return to the Black Shroud, to be raised by your people, I could locate them for you."

I frowned, looking down at my hands as I recalled what I could, of any other family I had. Nothing substantial came to mind; Siesta's life, up until the Calamity, had largely consisted of travelling around with her parents, never staying in one place too long. Neither Mama nor Papa had ever explicitly told me anything about their extended family, except perhaps for a few passing mentions. And I certainly had no ties to the Twelveswood, not even sentimental ones, though I merely called it that because it was what Mama had always called it.

"I think... I can't remember if Mama and Papa ever said anything about our relatives. I don't know any of those people, so yes, I would like to live with you, Uncle Tango," I said. It was the most reasonable conclusion, at any rate, even if for purely material reasons. Uncle Tango was obviously wealthy, almost beyond measure, and had already shown that I was welcome here for as long as I needed or wanted it. What could unknown relatives, whom my parents had never even bothered to introduce me to or tell me about, have to offer me?

In turn, he relaxed, giving me an encouraging smile and a nod. "Thank you, Siesta. 'Tis a relief to know that you willingly allow me to care for you. I know I can never be a replacement for your parents, and I shall not attempt to be," he said, and then he stood, approaching me again to place something on the table in front of me. "This is the last thing your mother left to you. Your parents were cremated in the equipment they were wearing, though the rest of their accessories and weapons that they were carrying have been stored away. I shall have them brought to you anon."

I stared at the bracelet he'd placed on the table. Crafted from silver, it was a delicate chain of woven links and gemstones and certainly didn't look like anything to be worn into battle. Siesta knew far better, however, and I picked it up to wrap around my wrist. It fit perfectly, as I knew it would; that was only one of its many magical properties.

"Thank you, Uncle Tango," I said quietly, looking at him again.

He huffed, waving off my gratitude. "I only pass to you what is rightfully yours, child. Apart from that, your mother's last wish was for her and your father's ashes to be scattered across the land. When you are recovered again, we shall travel to see that done, time and circumstances permitting," he said, pausing with a sigh. "Would that I could have done more for your parents... but in the wake of General Raubahn's departure with the Alliance forces, for the Carteneau Flats, Her Grace sought my counsel ever more desperately. I accompanied her in her prayers during the Calamity, and so I was not present to witness your mother's final moments. I can only offer my sincerest apologies, Siesta, and pray for their forgiveness."

Regret was written in every line of his face and every word of his speech, but I couldn't summon any words of comfort for him. I doubted that he either needed reassurances or sought them from me, though, so I merely bit my lip and nodded again at him wordlessly, before remembering to ask, "Uncle, what... what's happened to Bango and Cila? I haven't seen them since I woke up..."

I hadn't thought it possible for him to look even worse than he already did, but at the mention of his sons, his eyes grew even more pinched and he pressed his lips together briefly, before finding the strength to say, "Cila is alive and well, Siesta, thank the Twelve. He is merely occupied with overseeing our relief efforts here in Ul'dah, and sends you his regards. As for Bango... he was in Limsa Lominsa, the last I heard of his whereabouts before the Calamity. We have heard naught of him since."

Once again, I was surprised by the grief and anxiety his words triggered within me, and I choked on air. Was it not enough that my parents were gone? We shared another silent look of mutual understanding, before he nodded at me; there was nothing he could say to try and comfort me that would not feel empty, and I would not impose on his grief. With another few words of farewell and an order to rest well and recover, he left, to attend to the countless other matters he no doubt had on his plate. Trying not to think about Bango's possible fate, I turned back to examine the bracelet on my wrist.

This innocuous-looking accessory was anything but. Siesta had seen Mama wearing it for as long as she could remember, and more importantly, had been taught how to use it, in the event that Mama or Papa hadn't been available to. _Attune your aether to the stones, much as you would attune yourself to an aetheryte,_ she had been told, and it was easy enough to use. A simple mental inquiry, and an entire inventory list would appear in the user's mind, to be perused at will. Drawing out an item in the list was as easy as focusing on it and focusing on the place it would appear, and storing an item was equally simple. You had to be wearing it physically, of course, but otherwise, it was a ridiculously convenient way of storing and carrying items that were otherwise too bulky or heavy to carry around easily. Mama and Papa had stored practically their entire lives in this bracelet, everything they had accumulated from their years of adventuring.

Unfortunately for me, none of this explained exactly _how it worked._ How in the seven hells did a _bracelet_ serve as a storage unit? What exactly were its limits? How could it even communicate directly with the user's mind? It didn't seem sentient, more like a simple device that could be operated by the user's will, like any machine, except that the method of interacting with it involved telepathy, rather than physical manipulation. All I knew about it otherwise was that a Sharlayan had given it to Mama, years before Siesta had been born.

I sighed out loud. Those questions wouldn't be answered anytime soon, unless I was willing to try and track down a Sharlayan whose identity I didn't even remotely know, and who was most likely already long-dead. I had bigger problems to think about, and finished the rest of my meal, which had grown cold, but hardly unpalatable. Ringing the bell for a servant to come and clear away the dishes, I settled myself on the couch next to the window and fireplace, with my half-finished embroidery. Aunt Ailala had brought me some books as well, but I didn't feel calm enough at the moment to even begin attempting to read.

Once again, my mind returned to the topic of Siesta and myself. I hadn't had too much time to think about it, but the more I did, the only conclusion I could reach was that I had died on Earth. The accident could very easily have killed me... or at least sent me into a coma. And this could all be a mere dream. I shook myself free of that thought. This couldn't be a dream; I had never been conscious enough in a dream to question the reality of my surroundings. Every time I did question it now, the answer came back to me, clear and immediate: _This is real, this is happening._ Every last one of my senses was working perfectly to take in my surroundings, and nothing seemed even remotely dream-like.

Of course, that didn't discount the possibility of this being a very elaborate prank, which was even more ridiculous than the dream theory. Even ignoring the fact that there was absolutely no logical explanation I could think of for playing such an expensive joke on a severely injured girl, my very body had been changed. My new ears and tail weren't just there for show; I could feel sensations through them, and even move them of my own accord.

I set my embroidery aside and leant forward, burying my face in my hands, while being careful not to aggravate my injuries. The only reason why I was even entertaining these silly theories was that the most "plausible" theory still sounded _bloody insane._ Somehow, when I'd either died - or fallen into a coma - back on Earth, my very consciousness, memories and personality, had been ripped out of my body, sent to an alternate dimension - or wherever the hells Hydaelyn was - and fused in some way with another girl's soul, to occupy her body. It all sounded like the plot of a terrible fanfiction. The most terrifying part was that whoever or whatever had done this, had joined us together so well that it felt completely natural to just accept this dual identity. Siesta didn't feel like a separate consciousness in my mind; she _was_ me. Her past, her instincts and knowledge, as well as her relationships with the people around her, were all part of me now.

My mind had always been my last refuge, the only place where I had true privacy. Finding out that it could be so easily hijacked scared the shite out of me, and not knowing who or what had done this was a thousand times more terrifying. Although, when I thought about it, narrowing down the list of entities that had the power to forcibly fuse two souls together, in this world, wouldn't be a very complicated task.

But that still left the question of _why_ this had happened. Why had I and Siesta been chosen for this, assuming that it had happened through the intentions of some sentient being? Were there any other people out there who had undergone something similar? Somehow, I doubted it; Siesta had never heard of anyone or anything being conjoined like this, in her life, and neither had I. And _how_ had we even been fused? I was no scientist or philosopher, and certainly Siesta wasn't either, but the very existence of Eorzea, of Hydaelyn, as well as the very fact that our souls had been combined, called into question all the passing beliefs I had previously held about the universe. I hadn't even fully believed in the concept of souls, back on Earth, and if Hydaelyn, which I had previously known only as a completely fictional, fantasy world, had truly existed this whole time, what other worlds - or universes - existed? Was my Earth also a fictional, fantasy world that only existed in a story, in a third dimension?

My increasingly moot train of thought was interrupted by Mina entering the room. She smiled cheerfully at me, as she had every time we had seen each other over the past three days. I wasn't sure what I had done to elicit such affectionate expressions from her, but I did my best to return them, as a matter of courtesy. Before the Calamity, Siesta had only known her as a face among Uncle Tango's army of servants, and certainly not by name.

"All right there, Miss Siesta? How's the food?" she asked, stacking up the dishes. In addition to the apple juice, my lunch had consisted of a wonderful flaky antelope pie, and beef and mushroom stew. Two different kinds of meat, in dishes that had obviously been prepared by a master culinarian. That Uncle Tango could afford this much, mere days after an apocalypse had taken place, spoke volumes about his wealth.

"Delicious, as always. Thank you, Mina," I said, and she laughed lightly.

"It's not me you have to thank for the food, milady. Ol' Silver will be glad to hear how you enjoy your meals. He's been worried about you, like most of the household, really," she said. I blinked at her in surprise.

"I... Well, thank you; I appreciate your concern, but why?" I asked. I didn't know any of the household personally; Aunt Ailala's personal retainer, Ticoco Tico, who had minded me in my early childhood, was the only servant I could claim to have a bit of history with. Siesta hadn't been the most social of children; her nomadic lifestyle hadn't lent itself well to forming lasting relationships, and so she had never felt any particular need for socialising with Uncle Tango's servants.

In response to my question, Mina shrugged. "In memory of your parents, really. Mistress Kadhuce and Master Mhira'a always did right by us. Many of us owe Lord Tango our loyalty, if not our lives, and he, Lady Ailala, and Master Cila are worried sick about you, so what concerns them, concerns us. They've been out of their minds wonderin' what's happened to Master Bango too. The quicker you recover, the sooner they have one less thing to worry about," she said, then smiled at me again, although this time it was tinged with sympathy. "Besides, I know what it's like to lose family."

I cast my gaze down. As touching as their regards were, it was slightly galling to have it stem from respect for my parents and godparents, and pity for my circumstances. But still, I was lucky to have people who cared about me, whatever their reasons were. If I wanted people to care about me for me, I'd have to actively cultivate relationships, then. I would have time to do that, if I was going to be living permanently in this household. "Thank you," I said quietly, for lack of anything better to say.

"Well, milady, it's nice to see that your parents taught you some manners. If I may be frank, I can't say I ever thought much of you before this. You never did speak much with any of us," she said. I looked up at her again, pressing my lips together. It was rather mortifying, and even a little sad, but Siesta had never actually thought of Uncle Tango's servants as actual people, so easily had they blended into the background before.

Still, she'd been only a child; she still was, in many aspects. I couldn't afford to behave childishly now, though, not in this alien land, where I had no one to truly protect me. I had established that much; this was neither the time nor the place to start babbling nonsense about soul fusion, and the people around me probably wouldn't be able to help me, anyway. For now, I would simply have to blend in, to survive, until I figured out what I could or would do next. Being thrown into the body of a native, with an already-established past and relationships, was useful for one thing, at least.

"I know," I said simply, returning my attention to Mina. Casting about for a change of topic, I realised I hadn't heard much - or anything, really - about the outside world yet. "Has there been any news about... anything in particular?" I asked. Mina paused in consideration, staring at the ceiling in thought.

"The casualty reports climb higher and higher with each new day, but I suppose you'd know that already," she said, now turning to face me and folding her arms across her chest, "and the Grand Companies've been attemptin' to trade relief supplies, but the aetheryte network's been damaged somehow, which means they can't send out supplies as fast as anyone would like. There were some awful riots in the city itself, just after the Calamity, but the sultana herself came out and quelled the rioters! Even so, Ul'dah's been brought low... the Milvaneth Sacrarium barely stands on its own as it is now. We can only thank the Twelve that these residential districts were spared from most of the destruction."

I frowned, gazing at the carpet again. Apart from the bit about the residential districts, everything Mina had told me about, I'd already heard of, from _Final Fantasy XIV_ itself. Not for the first time, I wondered how the game back on Earth was connected to the real Hydaelyn. "Is there anything else, from outside of Thanalan, perhaps?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I'm afraid there's nothing much, milady. The Calamity's thrown Eorzea into utter chaos, and it seems the usual roads have all been blocked off, so news from the other city-states is difficult to come by, you see. People are still wonderin' what happened at the Carteneau Flats, too. The remnants of the Alliance forces have been marching steadily into Ul'dah all week, and so the alchemists at Frondale's Phrontistery have been hard-pressed to treat all the wounded, soldiers and civilians alike," she said, shuddering slightly. "Lord Tango and Master Cila have sent out half the household staff, along with supplies, to aid in the relief efforts. I was out running supplies for the whole of last week... the state of the city's truly a horrible sight to behold."

I could have imagined the sights she had described, but I didn't want to. I was also fairly certain I would see them for myself at some point, anyway. In any case, it was clear I would have to wait a while more to truly learn anything about Eorzea at large. As I straightened my back to nod at Mina and dismiss her, another twinge of pain reminded me, yet again, of the injuries I was still recovering from. Much as I wanted and needed all my answers immediately, I would have time to consider how to go about finding them.

Once Mina had left, taking the dishes with her, I returned to my rumination. The mention of the Carteneau Flats and the Alliance army reminded me of the Warriors of Light, although Siesta had never known them by that title. She had never met any of them, only heard of the primal-slayers in passing. It seemed that Mama and Papa had chosen to keep themselves and me out of the affairs leading up to the Calamity, except for their final trip to Coerthas. The last act of two wayward children of Menphina, who had finally decided to offer their first act of obeisance to her, in Eorzea's darkest hour. I scoffed bitterly. That their first and only involvement in this war, of praying for salvation from their goddess, had resulted in their deaths... it was a cruelly ironic judgement.

Siesta still didn't want to believe that her parents were truly gone. Part of me saw it as a tragic accident, but certainly not one that would affect me in any meaningful way. The thirteen-year-old girl in me wanted only to wail, sob, and beg an uncaring deity for her parents to come back, for Mama to pull her into her lap and stroke her hair, wipe away her tears, and assure her that everything was simply a horrible nightmare that would be banished with the clarity of the waking world, for Papa to stride into the room, smile at her and take her out hunting or training like he did every day, and praise her as his "little prodigy", his "finest student", and at the end of the day, his "wonderful girl". I wasn't ready to deal with all that raw grief, not just yet. Forcing it down to focus on what I needed to do from here wasn't the best solution, but it would have to do for now.

I turned my thoughts away from my parents in this world, and grabbed at the previous topic that had led to them: the Warriors of Light... for lack of a better term. Siesta couldn't remember their names, not that I expected to. No one, not even the people closest to those adventurers, could remember what they looked like or what their names were, after the Calamity, though it probably wouldn't be widely realised among the people of Eorzea until much later. I could be grateful that Siesta wasn't a Warrior of Light, at least, or perhaps _the_ Warrior of Light. A preteen girl had no business fighting primals, beastmen, Nael van Darnus, or the Garleans at the Carteneau Flats, of course, and there was no way she had the Echo-

 _Let us show these mortals the true power of the Echo... The power to break down the barriers of existence!_

 _I am become you..._

 _... And we are become one._

I jerked upright, staring at the door in horror, as the conclusion that I should have arrived at earlier, finally dawned on me: Siesta had the Echo. Why hadn't I seen it before? How could I have forgotten the sight of two Ascians fusing into one being, even if I had only seen it through a computer screen? But those questions weren't the most important ones now that I recognised the effects of the Echo. Briefly, I wondered if I had it too, even as a soul that didn't necessarily originate from Hydaelyn - but I shook myself. What mattered most of all was that _Siesta_ clearly had the Echo, and that, at least, was the most likely explanation for _how_ our souls had been fused together. As for _why_ , I would have to ask whoever or whatever had done it, since it clearly hadn't been done with either Siesta's or my knowledge and cooperation.

I ground my teeth in frustration. _If only I know more about it!_ The Echo hadn't been a very clearly-defined power in _Final Fantasy XIV_ , back on Earth, and here in Eorzea, it was even less-understood. Knowing that the Echo was involved solved one mystery, but made clearing up the other all the more complicated. The list of possible suspects responsible for my current state could be narrowed down to a few beings: Hydaelyn and Zodiark, the two entities capable of granting the Echo to mortals, or perhaps one of the latter's servants; the Ascians.

If it was Zodiark or the Ascians who had done this, I was most likely screwed; I couldn't very well just walk up to one of them and demand an explanation. Still, what possible reason or plan would Zodiark have in doing something like this with Siesta, a child of Hydaelyn? Why _would_ He even bother with Hydaelyn's children, when He had His own servants? As for the Ascians, I somehow doubted they would have the power to pull a soul from another universe on their own, without the blessing of their god. Of course, it was possible that Hydaelyn and Earth existed in the same universe, only as different planets very far apart, but I seriously doubted that. For one thing, Earth didn't have deities that could be granted sentience and corporeal form simply through providing a power source and intense prayer on the part of their worshippers. In any case, if this was the work of Zodiark or His like, getting answers out of them would be impossible right now.

So that left the best-case scenario: that Hydaelyn had done this. She'd bestowed the Echo upon Siesta, somehow pulled me from another universe, and fused our souls together to occupy Siesta's body. If I wanted to know Her reasons for doing so, I would have to ask Her myself. I huffed at that; it would be easier said than done. Siesta obviously knew nothing about directly communing with a goddess, so all I had to go on were my memories of various characters in _Final Fantasy XIV_ , Minfilia chief among them, speaking to Hydaelyn.

 _And this is what I have been reduced to, now_ , I grumbled to myself. _Trapped in another universe, which three days ago I believed to be entirely fictional, in an alien body, forced to rely on second-hand knowledge from a_ video game _to attempt to communicate with a goddess, who I'm not even sure exists._ On Earth, where the existence of deities couldn't be proven conclusively, I'd led as secular a life as it was possible to live, never giving much regard to religious discussions. _When did everything become so ridiculous?_ The irony of a fictional goddess being my only hope now, struck me dumb with its comedic absurdity.

 _Still, if_ this _is my only option..._ I rubbed at my forehead, sighing in resignation. It couldn't hurt to attempt communication, at least. From what I could recall of Minfilia speaking with Hydaelyn in _Final Fantasy XIV_ , reaching out to Her was as simple as directing speech or thought at Her. The possibility that it would require some sort of aetherial attunement occurred to me, and I paused, trying to figure out what to try to attune to.

 _I am Hydaelyn. All made one._ Right, Hydaelyn was the embodiment of the world, or at least, that was how I interpreted that line from the game, so what constituted "All"? All living beings? The land itself? It seemed as good as any a place to start, and Mama had trained Siesta in conjury, which she was remarkably skilled at.

 _Conjury is the art of drawing from the land's endless bounty of aether to fuel your magicks,_ Mama had said, _and you, my daughter, have a gift for it unlike any other I have seen in my life._ I could see her face, glowing with pride as she taught Siesta how to tap into nature's reserves and harness them for spells. _Concentrate, and grasp the aether, both your own and that of the land. Your body is as the conduit which draws in nature's forces, and your will shapes it into the magicks we magi wield. Outside the Twelveswood, the voice and will of the elementals may be weaker, but the land is no less alive for it. So long as you walk this realm, wherever you may be, you can draw from its aether for your use._

I straightened up again carefully, taking deep breaths, closing my eyes, and concentrated on clearing my mind, extending my other senses to take in my surroundings, just as Mama and Papa had taught Siesta to do, while hunting all over Eorzea. My aches and pains faded away as I calmed my thoughts and focused on the aether, both within me and without. It was much easier than I'd honestly expected it to be, but of course, Siesta was well-practiced at meditation, even if she was only thirteen.

Now that I was truly concentrating, instead of letting my thoughts and anxieties run amok as they mostly had over the past three days, I realised I could _feel_ the aether within me. To a native of Eorzea, born and bred in a land brimming with aether, their own life-force was as familiar and ordinary a part of their body as their hands or feet, but to me, who had never experienced anything like it on Earth, it was an utterly foreign sensation. Looking at my aether felt like looking at something with my peripheral vision, only I couldn't look directly at it no matter how hard I tried, because that would've been like trying to turn yourself inside-out to look at your own internal organs. The best words I could find to describe it were as a gentle stream flowing through me, ebbing and flowing with every breath I took, every movement I made, except the stream wasn't made of liquid or even air. In any case, now I knew it was there, and what to look for to access it again. From Siesta's memories of her past meditations, my aether was currently much weaker than it normally was, which I attributed to my injuries, as well as a possible side-effect of our fusion.

It would serve my current purpose, though, and I turned to seek out the land's aether. It was drastically different from the feeling of my own aether; much more turbulent, and also much more widespread. If my aether was a flowing stream, the land's aether was a raging ocean stirred up by a storm, almost infinite in its depths. What was surprising was the fact that it was simultaneously much more turbulent and yet weaker than what Siesta remembered it to be: a calm, placid lake, hinting at the vast reserves beneath the surface. This was yet another reminder of the Calamity's effects on Eorzea; beyond the widespread physical destruction easily visible to the naked eye, the Lifestream, the great underground aetherial river that flowed through the land itself, had been struck and torn wide open, exposed to the surface. It churned around and around, and in time I knew it would manifest itself in the form of massive crystals across the land, if it hadn't done so already.

And attuning myself to the land's aether would involve something similar to _plugging_ myself directly into this chaotic mess. The aether of all living beings was connected to the land at all times; we came from the land and we would return to it when we died. But this connection was, most of the time, muted, dimmed, and largely closed off. Attuning to it basically consisted of opening the gates on this connection and letting it flood your very being. Siesta had done it before, of course, but back then she had been her own person, not a possibly unstable and fragmented being formed of two souls, and she hadn't been connecting to this turbulent sea that now thrashed about in the background, out of sight and almost out of mind.

My physical hands shook as I hesitated. I had one end of my aether firmly within my mental grip, and on the other side, in an equally firm grip, was a link to the land's aether. All I would have to do was join the two ends together... but what effect would it have on me? If the land's aether was corrupted, would that corruption affect me if I attuned myself to it? It didn't _feel_ corrupted or truly damaged, from what I could tell, but I was hardly an expert in aetheric theory. Siesta had assisted Mama in a few purifications of corrupted aether in the past, wherever it had been found in their travels, but she had never before tried to attune herself to it.

 _I don't know._ The long and short of it was, I didn't know what would happen to me, and there was only one way to find out. It was my best lead to Hydaelyn and finding the potential answers She held for me. It was a risk I was just going to have to take. I inhaled deeply again, and gently touched the two ends together in my mind.

Immediately, I fought back a surge of nausea as a rush of restless energy flowed through me, leaving me shaken in its wake. My ears were suddenly filled with a multitude of quiet, wordless wails and moans, and with a jolt, I realised it was the voices of the elementals resounding throughout the land. The Calamity had left them weakened and wounded, and now they lacked the strength to do anything but cry in pain. My attunement had allowed me to hear them, and I thanked my stars I hadn't ended up in the Twelveswood, where they would doubtless be infinitely louder. Here in Ul'dah, in the middle of Thanalan, their influence was weaker, and their voices much diminished.

 _All right, deep breaths,_ I reminded myself. I could get through this, I _had to_ get through this. Gradually, I fought through the crowd of voices, isolating each one and tuning it out in turn. I didn't know how long it took me, how long I sat there, but thankfully no one came in to interrupt me. The task wasn't particularly draining or complicated - Siesta had had to sort through the voices of the elementals to find a particular one, in the past, as well - but it did require my complete mental focus.

At first, the elementals' voices seemed infinite in number, but the longer I worked, the faster I found I could identify an elemental's wails and methodically shut it out. Finally, I cut off my connection to the last few, the strongest elementals who had retained the most of their power after the Calamity, and quiet reigned again in my mind, save for the roaring maelstrom that was the Lifestream. Pushing away the creeping doubt that Hydaelyn even existed or could hear me, which had begun to seep into me as I'd worked, I gathered my will again, and sent - or shouted, really - my pleas into the chaos.

 _"Hydaelyn? I am..."_ I paused, wondering how to identify myself, " _... the soul now known as Siesta Fiesta. And formerly, I knew myself as Alexandria Fei, not of this world, not of Your children. If You can hear me... I need Your answers!"_

I fell silent, and waited. My even, measured breaths and pounding pulse were the only sounds that rang in my ears, a ticking clock for the minutes as they passed. I strained my senses, trying to catch a glimpse or whisper of anything that could've been construed as a reply, but none seemed to reach me. My hope began to trickle from me slowly, until...

 _"Beloved daughter... All shall be answered in time. My strength is waned... allow me rest..."_

I had to stretch myself to the very limit to catch those words, and even then, I almost gave up in trying to decipher them, so weak was Her voice. It made sense that the Calamity had weakened Hydaelyn, but to this extent? _Final Fantasy XIV_ had given me the impression that She had been stronger in its wake... although that had been five years after the Calamity, so perhaps She had recovered somewhat in the intervening time. At any rate, I had managed to confirm several things: that Hydaelyn, and by extension Zodiark and the Ascians, existed, that She knew of my situation and was possibly even responsible for it, that Siesta - that I - had the Echo now... and that none of this was a dream. I lost my grasp on the connection as my realisation shook me to my core. _This is not a nightmare, or a dream. This is reality._

Now, She was asking me to wait for Her answers, to wait until She had recovered Her strength. I curled up on the couch as I processed the implications. Hydaelyn hadn't given a definite answer as to how long this wait would last, but from my knowledge of the game, She would most likely be indisposed until five years' time... when the Warrior of Light arrived once again in Eorzea. Panic began to well up in me again, and I fought it down. _I'm not the Warrior of Light, I can't be. I'm just a normal girl with the Echo. There were others with the Echo, other Eorzeans, and there's no guarantee the Warrior of Light even exists, or that my knowledge is even accurate. I_ am not _the Warrior of Light! I'm not meant to fight primals or Ascians or the Warriors of Darkness. I'm not, I'm not!  
_

And as I stayed on the couch, desperately repeating my reassurances and denials to myself, I could only hope that there would be a sign, an event, a messenger, something or anything, to banish my doubts and prove my conclusions wrong, in the future to come.

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 **Thank you for reading this far. If you enjoyed it, I do not request that you review, merely that you tell someone else about this story and how you enjoyed it.**


	2. Meet the OCs!

**Disclaimer: Of course** ** _Final Fantasy XIV,_** **and all its expansions are not my intellectual property. This is fanfiction. The only thing that's actually mine is the text of this story.**

 **Author's Notes for this story, if they apply to the story as a whole and not only to the specific chapter they appear in, can be found on my profile. If multiple reviewers ask the same question, and I think it's sufficiently important and can't be answered within the story itself, I shall answer it in an FAQ for this story there.**

 **SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS! It wasn't just an inexplicable one-shot after all! I told myself I'd get this out before Stormblood, and I DID! Yay!  
**

 **First uploaded: 2017/06/10  
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 **Chapter 2: Meet the OCs!  
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 _Now, if dying really sucks, then waking up again just sucks even more. The dead ought to be glad they're dead; they don't have to deal with all the shite that comes afterwards, do they? Such as recovering from horrible injuries, or picking up the pieces of what used to be your home, or cleaning up after the dead. I've never seen Cila as ragged as he looked while he was in charge of the relief efforts, not even when he became chairman of Gold Sands. Watching the city you were born and raised in fall victim to the Calamity tends to have that effect on you, I hear, and so does having your friends and family go missing.  
_

 _Of course, it could've been worse. It can always be worse. I could've woken up in a far more hostile environment, without anyone to help me. And Bango came back safely, at least. But really, if I'd ended up in, say, the middle of the wilderness after the Calamity, wounded and alone, then I would've just died, and I wouldn't be here now. We wouldn't be here now..._

 _Well, anyway, I suppose it's a good thing I ended up where I did, although I find it rather difficult to be grateful for that, knowing it was by design and not completely by chance. It didn't make what came next any less... aggravating. All that waiting. The... the anticipation was really the worst part of it, but at least I did find ways to fill my time._ _  
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 _Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 3rd Umbral Moon, 11th Sun  
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"Good evening, milady," Mina said brightly, as she entered the room. She had excellent timing; I had woken up only a few minutes ago, and was in the process of gently stretching myself out, mindful of the few remaining aches that served to remind me of my injuries. Siesta was skilled at healing her own physical wounds with conjury - Mama and Papa had both drilled her endlessly on the finer points of self-healing - but even so, injuries on the scale she had suffered would have taken some time to heal. Ul'dah's medical resources had been understandably stretched thin as they were, and so I was left to recover on my own, while the physicians of the city tended to those far more injured than I was.

Having limbered myself up, I returned my attention to Mina, who had continued speaking after glancing me over, "If you're feelin' well enough, Miss Siesta, Lord Tango will be joining us for dinner tonight. Lady Ailala wants to know if you'll dine with them as well." As she spoke, she set about preparing the washstand and dressing table for my use, as she had every day since I had woken from my coma; filling the basin with water from the pitchers she had carried in with her and laying out the towels and brush that had been provided for me.

I didn't need very long to think about it, really. It would only be the second time that Uncle Tango had been able to dine at home while I was awake, and I had missed the first opportunity to join him and Aunt Ailala due to my inability to manage the stairs, with or without aid. This morning had been the first time I'd been able to roll over to sleep on my side without any pain. I nodded at her.

"Good evening, Mina, and yes, I believe I can this time," I said, pushing myself into a sitting position and rubbing at my eyes. When I made to stand up, she was next to me, ready to offer her arm, but I held up my hand. "I can manage, thank you, and I have the yarn on the table there ready for the taking." Being physically dependent on someone else for the simplest of movements during these past few weeks had taken a larger toll on my patience than I cared to admit, and as sedentary as I had been on Earth, I was eager to just be able to _walk_ normally on my own again. Thankfully, Mina was astute enough to realise this, and when Aunt Ailala wasn't around to see it, was perfectly willing to leave me be until I asked for help.

Instead, she turned towards the window, where Siesta's spinning wheel had been set up next to the couch, and approached the little end table which held the three baskets of yarn I'd stacked there this morning before going to bed. Hefting them into her arms, she paused, looking around at the conspicuous lack of the raw hemp, cotton, and flax I'd been given two days ago, meant to last the week, and then turned back to me, her eyes wide with incredulity.

"Milady, how long were you working last night?" she asked, her gaze flitting between me and the baskets. I shrugged from where I was now standing in front of the washstand, wringing out a towel that I had dipped in the basin.

"Only a few hours, really. It was nothing," I said, before burying my face into the towel to scrub away the sleep, and smother my scoff at the idea that _that_ had been all I was expected to produce for the week. Mina and Aunt Ailala were only concerned for my health; no matter how much it frustrated me, it wouldn't do to seem ungrateful. But really, reading and embroidery would've only occupied me so long until I went stir-crazy, cooped up in this room on the second floor of Uncle Tango's mansion, with hours upon hours of nothing but silence and my thoughts for a constant companion.

By virtue of her Keeper heritage and lifestyle, Siesta's body was accustomed to a nocturnal schedule, and I was perfectly content to continue on this sleeping rhythm, which I'd settled back into a mere five days after waking. Even in the early evening, the rays from the setting sun was enough to make me wince whenever I glanced out the window; the same enlarged pupils that granted Keeper Mi'qote their excellent night vision were a complete pain in the arse when there was _too_ much light around. Unfortunately, staying awake when almost everyone else in the household was asleep, and vice versa, resulted in a distinct lack of options for relaxed entertainment during my waking hours.

Physically, I was fine with reading and needlework by moonlight or starlight if it was available, and by the dying embers in the fireplace or a dim crystal-powered lamp if it was a cloudy or moonless night. The problems lay in the facts that deciphering the strange Eorzean script, so unfamiliar to me and still so complicated to Siesta, gave me a headache, Aunt Ailala's questionable notions of what constituted appropriate literature for a teenage girl were giving me an uncomfortable insight into her personal tastes, and there were only so many flowers and initials I could stitch before I ran out of handkerchiefs and ennui set in.

Hence, a week and a half ago, I'd put my foot down as firmly as I could without seeming impolite or ungrateful, and asked Aunt Ailala to put me to work. Back home on Earth, I might have been fine with an unhurried, peaceful convalescence, but that would have been in a modern 21st-century society that _hadn't_ been freshly wrecked by an apocalypse, with access to the internet and all the entertainment that entailed. Siesta, in contrast, had never been the type to enjoy idle rest, had always ached to be useful, accomplished, and praised for her skills. More importantly, in the silent dead of night, my anxieties and Siesta's grief had a nasty tendency to creep up on me without anything else to occupy the time.

Of all of Siesta's many skills, the only one that would afford me an occupation while confined to the room was clothcraft. Operating a full loom with my injuries had been out of the question, but that didn't rule out cutting and stitching together the light clothes, bandages, blankets, and linens that the wounded people of Ul'dah needed urgently, or, as I had been doing the night before, spinning the yarn used to weave the cloth for these supplies. The quality and quantity of my work had been shaky and low at first, but it had taken me little time to improve, familiarising myself with the motions ingrained into my hands by Siesta's long hours of practice in the past. Best of all, producing quality supplies, in the quantities I aspired to produce, took enough of my attention that I could simply _forget_ the realities of my situation for the time being.

The only issues I encountered with my work were neatly encapsulated by the expression of the maidservant who was now holding the fruits of my labour and staring at me, chewing on her lip as she hesitated with whatever she wanted to say next. As the maid in charge of tending to my needs during my now-indefinite stay here, she had a vested interest in my well-being, yet was not exactly in a position to reprimand me for doing anything detrimental to my health; hence her current dilemma. I returned her gaze in the mirror of the washstand for a moment, before biting back an aggrieved sigh and turning to face her properly.

"Really, it's nothing," I said, waving at the baskets. "If I weren't injured, I could work much better and faster than this."

"But you _are_ injured, milady," Mina finally said, not holding back her own sigh. "You're wounded and recovering; you should be resting and letting us look after you as we ought to be able to, not workin' yourself to the bone for others." It was a touching sentiment, but one I'd heard already, from Aunt Ailala herself, and hearing it again wasn't about to change my mind.

"I _am_ resting, Mina," I said, trying to be appreciative of her concern. She could, at least, discern the difference between being active during my recovery and overworking myself, and was only trying to prevent the latter. "It's nice that you and Aunt Ailala care about me, but I do know my limits, and I won't do anything to jeopardise my healing. If my work did put too much strain on me, I'd know before anyone else, and I _would_ stop. Just... trust me on that, if nothing else." Because that really was the issue here: Aunt Ailala and Mina saw me for the child that I was, partially in mind and fully in body for now. Being treated as a child who didn't know anything better, even in such a relatively minor way, was almost as trying as being forced to depend on others for help in walking had been, but I would just have to deal with it for the time being.

To my relief, Mina let the matter drop at that, shaking her head with another sigh. "I'll put these with the rest of the supplies, then. Will you be taking a bath, milady?" she said, pausing just before the door. A bath _was_ tempting, truly; in the arid deserts of Thanalan, it was a rare opportunity to relax tense muscles and soothe the pain of injuries such as mine, but at the same time, such a simple luxury seemed almost distasteful in the wake of an apocalypse. In Uncle Tango's home, I slept in a warm, soft bed, ate finely-prepared food, and didn't have to lift a single finger in work if I didn't want to. Meanwhile, outside the walls of this mansion, tens of thousands of people were picking up the pieces of their home, or trying to treat and recover from injuries in far worse conditions than the ones I enjoyed.

"I'll be fine with a shower," I said, compromising between my desires to be as little of a burden as possible, and to be presentable for dinner. With a final nod and a small smile, Mina exited the room, leaving me to finish getting ready for the day, and prepare for dinner later that night.

* * *

It would be at dinner when I finally met Cila Zila for the first time after the Calamity. Uncle Tango and Aunt Ailala had elected to have their meal served in their private dining room, between the kitchens and Uncle Tango's office on the first floor. Cila strode into the room, stopping just short of bursting through the doors, and interrupted Uncle Tango in the midst of a rather long tirade about Syndicate politics, which was, naturally, hampering the trade and transportation of relief supplies across Eorzea. As he reached the dining table, he nodded at me in acknowledgement.

"Siesta, 'tis a pleasure to see you well. Would that it could be under better circumstances," he said, his tone and bearing betraying his fatigue as he turned to his parents, presenting them with a sheaf of papers. His clothes, as well as what little skin they exposed, were covered with dust and stained with sweat and grime, but underneath all that, his skin had been bleached by exhaustion, contrasting against the dark shadows below his reddish-brown eyes.

"What news of the delays, Cila?" Uncle Tango asked without preamble, as Aunt Ailala took the papers and began reading through them, their dinner forgotten. I set my own knife and fork down, folding my hands in my lap, while Cila straightened his back and shoulders, banishing all traces of his weariness as best he could.

"That report," Cila said, indicating the papers, "includes the preliminary reports of landscape surveys in Western and Eastern Thanalan, from Highwind Skyways. The caverns in the former region appear to have collapsed in on themselves, cutting off the overland trade routes from Vesper Bay until we can clear the path or, more likely, construct a bridge. For the time being, supply ships to and from Vylbrand have been docking at the Silver Bazaar, which is currently straining under the surge in traffic. As for Eastern Thanalan, an impassable gorge now divides the land itself, and expeditions to find new land routes to the Black Shroud are being organised as we speak. These obstructions are but one reason for the delays in the shipments, Father."

"And what are the others?" Uncle Tango asked, motioning for Cila to draw a chair for himself. He did so, visibly sagging in his seat, while Aunt Ailala's frown grew more pronounced and her lips pursed ever tighter, the more she read.

" _Bandits_." Cila spat the word like a curse, his eyes narrowing in disgust. It would've been a comical expression on a Lalafell's face, but the sheer vehemence of his rage struck me; Siesta had never seen him this angry about anything before. "Bandits, Father, beastmen and spoken alike. They prey on the supply caravans travelling to and from Ul'dah, and there are not enough good men left in the realm to defend against them!"

"What of the Brass Blades?" Uncle Tango said, heedless of his son's displays of anger. "What the Lominsans do for the supplies within their borders is out of our hands, but surely 'tis well within our ability to arrange for security details while they are in Thanalan?"

Cila laughed bitterly. "The accounts of both eyewitnesses and survivors indicate that a bandit is like as not to be bearing the arms of the Brass Blades. The caravans that do arrive safely are most often guarded by adventurers, or skilled refugees. Some of my men in the black markets have sent word that the stolen supplies have been found for sale," he said, growing more heated with every word, and abruptly brought his fist down hard on the table, making me jump as the plates rattled. His teeth were bared, and he was breathing harshly through them. Aunt Ailala's only reaction to this was to look up, directing her frown at him.

"Cila-" she said, but he cut her off.

"Is there no end to their greed and depravity? They shied away from Carteneau, and now they steal from the wounded and starving, seeking to profit from them!" Unable to contain himself through mere shouting, he now jumped from his seat and began pacing across the thick woven rug sprawled on the floor. "Those bloody, craven, _thieving_ whoresons-!"

" _Cila_ ," Aunt Ailala said again, and this time her tone cut straight through his rage, such that he stopped and turned towards her automatically. "Comport yourself properly now, or need I remind you of our presence? And cease your needless accusations against the Brass Blades. I will not deny the corruption that plagues their ranks, but that gives you no leave to slander the names of the good men and women who serve Ul'dah." Her words drained his anger, deflating him like a balloon, and he coughed sheepishly.

"My apologies, Mother, Siesta. I forgot myself," he said, and turned back to Uncle Tango. "Above all else, Father, the bandits are our largest concern. The only shipments that are guaranteed safe passage are those being transported via airship, directly between the cities, and those are reserved for medical supplies and personnel, not food or building materials." Part of me was amused at how concerned Aunt Ailala was about his behaviour - whether as Siesta or myself, I had heard far worse language before - but I was mainly torn between two emotions: a growing fury on behalf of the people who were being robbed of their daily necessities, and a disquieted surprise at this anger building inside me.

My life on Earth had been a relatively peaceful existence compared to Siesta's nomadic childhood. Living in an affluent, modern city, where the crime rate was low enough to leave me untouched, the idea of relief supplies being stolen by armed bandits might have sparked some shock and indignation in me, but nothing more. I would have never had the ability, authority, or opportunity to do anything about it, and I certainly wasn't enough of a fool to even imagine hunting such robbers down like some kind of vigilante. But Siesta had been raised by parents who had believed in doling out their personal brand of justice, had been trained by them to fight off attacks from bandits on the road and to hunt down criminals if they had to, and now I had to deal with the consequences of the morals that had been drilled into her.

I clenched my hands, fighting down the urge to take up my knives and bow again, to sneak out of Ul'dah and into the deserts of Thanalan. Against my will, my mind conjured up images of maps and traced out routes, the threads of a plan coming together to form the tapestry of an ambush. _It would be so easy,_ my newfound instincts whispered, _I_ _need_ _a little more information, of course, but that's easy to get, and the Calamity has no doubt changed the landscape, so find out the new roads these caravans are taking. Find a choke point - there's always bound to be at least a few on the route - and arrange a trap, just like Papa taught me. Bandits like these aren't that smart, if they stick to attacking multiple caravans on the same route, but probably full of bravado, confident in their numbers and arms. They'd never see a trap coming - maybe a hidden tar pit, or just some good old sticky bombs, with an added incendiary - never see_ me _coming, I_ know _how to put arrows in a man's throat from thirty yalms away..._

 _No!_ It was the utter height of stupidity to go looking for criminals as a thirteen-year-old girl, let alone thinking of fighting or _killing_ them. What kind of upbringing did a child have to have, that planning and executing an ambush came so easily to her? But I knew the answer to that question already, since it was now _in my head._ Within my fists, I dug my nails into the flesh of my palms, focusing on the pain to wrench my attention from my thoughts, and returned to observing the conversation at hand.

"What forces have we at hand to patrol the roads?" Uncle Tango was asking now, with Cila resettled in his seat and his furious glare dialed back down to the tired frown he had entered the room with. Aunt Ailala had finished her perusal of the report in the meantime, and passed it to her husband. "The Immortal Flames are in disarray from Carteneau, and still recovering, but surely we have men to spare from the Gold Braziers? And what of the Stone Torches?" he continued, referring to the private military forces of the Gold Sands Bank and Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern, respectively.

Cila leaned forward, placing his crossed forearms on the tabletop to support his weight, as he considered the question and his answer. The exhale of defeat he huffed was not encouraging. "Without the Brass Blades, we are stretched far too thin for anyone's comfort. The Concern has dedicated the bulk of the Stone Torches to aiding with the excavations and surveys of the changed landscape, or to clearing the rubble of collapsed buildings. The remainder guards the roads to and within the Concern's holdings in Northern Thanalan. Hence, we can expect nothing more from them," he said, shaking his head, though he still seemed far less annoyed than I'd expected. "None from among their numbers seem to have taken to banditry, at the very least, so we may yet be thankful for that. As for the Gold Braziers... Father, you _know_ where they are now; you delegated their tasks yourself. No; they are occupied to the last able body and we have no one to spare."

"Then perhaps 'tis past time to re-examine their orders," Aunt Ailala said, mirroring Cila's frown of consideration. "If I recall correctly, the Braziers have been largely assigned to aiding with our relief and peacekeeping efforts within Ul'dah. Surely that does not require the strength of _all_ our soldiers?"

"Perhaps not, Mother, but I may yet have a solution to this quandary, one that does not necessitate exacerbating the people's privations," Cila said, his countenance lightening a shade for the first time that evening, before he hesitated, casting a glance at Uncle Tango.

"From the looks of you, I wager I will not like what you have to say," said Uncle Tango, with a resigned huff, "but nonetheless, speak."

Despite the encouragement, it still took Cila a moment of silent, minute fidgeting before he voiced his suggestion, "If we could but enlist the aid of the Sultansworn-"

" _No_ ," Uncle Tango said, now taking his turn to surprise me with an outburst. "I will _not_ have the sultana put at any more risk than she already is in these turbulent times."

"But Father!" Cila said, undeterred by the firm rejection despite his initial hesitance. "The Sultansworn are highly-trained and well-equipped-"

"And their numbers so few that directly following the Calamity, only Papashan came from amongst them to accompany Her Grace. One man - _one man_ \- was all they could spare to aid and assist her personally, in so dire a time of need," Uncle Tango interrupted Cila again. "The defense of the royal palace falls to them, and 'tis clear to all that their presence is scarce enough as it is."

"You too were at her side, Father," Cila said quietly, and yet, I couldn't detect the slightest hint of reproach in his demeanor, though Uncle Tango's jaw tightened at the reminder that he hadn't been with his family during the Calamity. He continued in a louder voice, "The sultana had no shortage of defenders at her disposal then, with your Brazier guards, Lord Thancred, and Pipin with her. She remained safe and sound through it all, despite the absence of the Sultansworn. Surely now-"

"Enough." The sheer authority Uncle Tango put into that single word could have frozen a rampaging dragon in its tracks, and Cila's argument, no matter how passionate, was no exception. "We shall recall the First Cohort from their guard posts within Ul'dah tomorrow and ready them for deployment in two days. Any critical posts are to be filled by the Second Cohort. You have full authority to act _only_ on these orders. Have I made myself clear, Cila?"

Cila clearly wanted to argue further, but the hard stare which Uncle Tango was now pinning him with, brooked no defiance. He lowered his own gaze down at the table in front of him for a moment, then clenched his teeth with a barely-audible click as he looked back up at Uncle Tango, and nodded sharply, his eyes and mouth pinched with the effort to remain silent. I glanced at Aunt Ailala for her reaction, only to be struck by the disdain that similarly narrowed her eyes as she stared at her own half-finished meal. Considering how she had been openly savouring her aldgoat steak and mashed popotoes with her typical restrained relish before Cila's arrival, I could only wonder what had been said to put such an expression on her face.

"Well, then," Uncle Tango said, after it was clear that Cila had nothing more to say, "you are certainly more than welcome to join us for dinner, Cila." He paused as Cila raised a hand, shaking his head.

"Thank you, Father," he said, though he couldn't quite keep the resentment out of his words, "but I desire a bath far more than a meal, for now. I shall dine afterwards. By your leave, I shall spend the night here, and fulfill your orders on the morrow."

"You are dismissed, then," said Uncle Tango, with a decisive nod and wave. "Rest well, my son, and I shall anticipate good tidings in your next report."

Cila returned the nod, stepping down from his chair. "Good night, Mother, Father," he said, and then turned to me, with the first genuine smile he had managed throughout the entire conversation, weak though it was, "Siesta, may we meet again in better health."

"I- yes, good night, Cila," I said, caught off-guard at being suddenly addressed. With that, Cila's smile briefly widened, before he turned and left the room. The thud of the doors closing behind him lapsed into a silence that lasted a moment, before it was broken by Aunt Ailala primly picking up her knife and fork to resume her meal, while Uncle Tango began reading through Cila's report.

"Mine apologies, that you had to witness such behaviour as Cila displayed, Siesta," said Aunt Ailala, without looking up from her food. "I certainly raised him better than that." I shook my head, though she wasn't exactly watching me.

"It's all right, Aunt Ailala. He's just... worried, isn't he?" I said, starting back on my own food. In spite of the Calamity, Siesta's godparents' meals were as finely-prepared as she remembered, and the only acknowledgement that it had even taken place was that tonight's dinner consisted of four courses, instead of the typical seven. The current main course of steak and popotoes had followed an appetiser of meat miq'abobs, dripping with gravy, and a serving of fish so delicately pan-fried that it had all but melted in my mouth. If there was one thing that Siesta and I had had in common, it was the ability to recognise well-prepared food.

"Worried or not, it does not excuse such uncouth shouting," she replied, turning her gaze back to me, whereupon she smiled gently, "but such understanding speaks well of you. Let us talk of more pleasant matters now, rather than of politics yet again." The side-eye she gave Uncle Tango was impressive, and better yet was his ability to ignore it in favour of the report, for a while, at least. He put it down with a sigh that was part exasperation, part fondness.

"Very well, very well," he said wryly. "We do have much to discuss, outside of the Syndicate," though he couldn't hold back his sneer at the topic of his colleagues and rivals. "For one... well, Siesta, there is the matter of your education."

"Education?" I echoed, blinking at him. Siesta certainly hadn't received an education that was anything close to formal or structured, nothing like my own had been. At the age when I'd been studying the basics of maths, science, the social studies, and languages, she had been busy learning archery, knife-combat, magic, hunting and trapping, weaving, leatherworking, and cooking. As the child of common-born, nomadic adventurers, scholarly pursuits would have held little value for her.

"Indeed; as your guardian, 'twould be utterly remiss of me, if I neglected your learning. Bango and Cila were both taught by only the finest of tutors," Uncle Tango said, his fond expression dimming at the mention of his missing son. "I would do no less for you, if you so desire, or if you wish to take up an apprenticeship, all the gil and recommendations you require are at your disposal. 'Tis but a matter of what you wish to be when you come of age. I have no doubt that you will excel at whatever you turn your hand to; your mother fair sang your praises, every time we spoke of you!"

What I wanted to be? No, he was asking what _Siesta_ wanted to be when she grew up, and though our souls seemed to have been joined into one, and I was in control of her body now, it wasn't my right to decide her life for her. I could only hold out hope that there would be a way to reverse whatever process had led to my current state, and separate us without either being harmed or killed, to return control of our own bodies to us. And yet... my only source of information, my only clear hope that such a thing was even possible, wanted me to wait _years_ before She would be capable of doing anything. I hadn't considered exactly what I would be doing in those years, but I didn't have that kind of time, _Siesta_ didn't have that kind of time.

Some of my uncertainty must have shown on my face, for Aunt Ailala spoke up, "You need hardly decide now, of course, Siesta. Whatever you choose, the restoration of Ul'dah must come first." Her smile grew wistful. "Should you wish to join Gold Sands, we would gladly welcome you, though I am aware that 'tis not the path your parents likely wanted for you."

It wasn't exactly what Siesta had wanted, either. She'd idolised her parents, dreamt of following in their footsteps as not just mere adventurers, but as self-appointed arbiters of justice - not that those had been the words she'd chosen to describe them, though. But what kind of education did an adventurer really need - that she didn't already have, anyway? I suppressed a shiver at the memories of the battles she'd been in, however few. True, she had never been in melee combat, but it was chilling to look at my hands now and know that they could just as easily fire an arrow to kill a man as they could spin a smooth spool of yarn. I didn't have to go back down that path for now, at least; I could simply take up an artisan trade instead.

"I'm not really sure what I want to do, but I'll think about it," I said, avoiding the question for now. My godparents accepted the answer easily enough, and dinner continued smoothly from there. The question remained on my mind, though, and as we finished the main course and the dessert of crowned apple pie was served and eaten, I pondered the options before me.

No, it wasn't my right to decide Siesta's life for her, but whether I liked it or not, I was trapped here for now, and whatever I chose to do would affect Siesta's future from here on, if and when she regained control of her life and body. _And in that case_ , I mused, staring out the window at the waxing moon, when I was back in her room, _perhaps it's my responsibility to ensure she has a good future to return to_.

And no, I didn't like that idea, not at all, but it wouldn't let me go. The sudden weight of the realisation that I was now responsible for an entire life not my own was another burden I didn't need. _Will I or nill I. It's my choice, but not my choice_ _anyway,_ and I had to suppress the bitter giggle that bubbled from my chest. _  
_

 _Fucking hell._

* * *

 _Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 3rd Umbral Moon, 15th Sun_

* * *

It didn't take Aunt Ailala much longer to notice that something was off about me.

"... 'tis naught of significance, save that Siesta concerns me, lately." Her voice was muffled, but still audible through the door of her private study. Now that I could mostly walk unassisted and without pain, a month into my stay here, I'd been granted the run of the mansion and the grounds, except for the family's bedrooms and studies, which I was more than happy to avoid. Instead, I'd decided to take a break from weaving, and spent the evening exploring Uncle Tango's extensive gardens, before coming in for dinner with Aunt Ailala. After another short stroll around the gardens, taking in the cool night breezes of Thanalan, the idea of looking around the library, to brush up on my reading comprehension of the Eorzean script, had occurred to me.

The library was located at the back of the mansion, with the first-floor entrance at the end of the long hallway that ran down the left side of the mansion, and Aunt Ailala's study was located along this hallway, which I'd been walking down when I heard her. The mention of my name caught my interest, and after a moment's hesitation, I pressed myself against the wall that the door was set in. One of the mansion's many foundation pillars, thick enough to completely cover me if I stood behind it, protruded from the wall, next to the door, and it was this that I hid behind to eavesdrop.

"How so, milady?" I recognised the other voice as that of Ticoco Tico, Aunt Ailala's longtime personal maid, and head of staff in the household. "Mina said that she was recovering well."

"Yes, yes, but 'tis not exactly her physical health that troubles me so. While 'tis heartening to know she is healing well... have you not noticed how unlike herself she seems now?" Aunt Ailala said, clearly agitated.

"As I recall, Miss Siesta has ever been a quiet child," Ticoco said. I hadn't seen much of her in the weeks I'd been here; mostly at mealtimes, but I had memories of childhood days spent under her care and watchful eye.

"Siesta was quiet, yes, but not stoic as she is now! Time was, you could all but read her every thought through her eyes. Now, 'tis as if she is afraid, but of what, I cannot understand, and she will not confide in any of us," Aunt Ailala said. I could hear her pacing up and down the length of the room, her path parallel to the door.

"She witnessed the Calamity, did she not, milady? And she has lost her parents as well. The wounds of their loss are still fresh in us all, and none deeper than hers. Grief changes a person, and the Calamity even more so," Ticoco replied, a calm, though noticeably grieved, contrast to Aunt Ailala's upset. "The whole of Ul'dah has been shaken to its core by what transpired at the Carteneau Flats; why should the young miss be any exception?"

Aunt Ailala sighed. "You speak the truth, Ticoco, and yet I cannot help but worry for her," she said, her footsteps coming to a stop near my side of the door. "I suppose there is naught for it but to wait, and hope she will find solace of her own soon, or speak to us." I didn't need to stick around after that, and promptly resumed my trek towards the library, ensuring that my footsteps upon the cool marble floors were as silent as possible, aided by Siesta's past training and experience in sneaking around. As I left, Ticoco's affirmations that it was only natural to be worried, faded away.

Uncle Tango's library was as large and grand as anything else he owned, occupying a full two floors, with entrances on both levels. In addition to shelves that reached from the floor of the first level to the ceiling of the second, the library included a variety of sculptures and displays scattered about, ranging from the aesthetic - tapestries, portraits, paintings, and other works of art - to the functional - maps of Eorzea and the realms beyond, and star globes.

Naturally, such a collection was ridiculously valuable, and to enter the library, I had to pass through a complex arcanima ward, which was unmanned for the moment; the staff of the mansion had been drafted for the relief efforts, leaving behind a skeleton crew to guard the mansion's entrances and exits, as I'd been told. At present, the ward merely identified visitors via their aetheric signature - my own had been keyed into all the mansion's magical defenses, by one of Uncle Tango's security arcanists, a few days after my stay here had been confirmed as being indefinite - but in an emergency, the ward could be activated to seal off the entire room, as with all other wards in the mansion.

Had I been at home in my own body, the prospect of being able to explore such a massive private collection of books, at my leisure, would've had me utterly enthralled, but as I wandered among the shelves, the conversation I had overheard remained at the front of my thoughts. If Aunt Ailala was waiting for me to open up to her, or anyone else, she would be waiting a very long time indeed, because I definitely wasn't going to tell her or anyone else anything. It was far better for people who had known Siesta to think that I'd been changed by the Calamity, than for them to believe that I was outright insane. _And who would blame them?_ I wondered, pausing in front of an old tapestry depicting a now-inaccurate map of Vylbrand, from some years past. _Even with having spoken to Hydaelyn Herself, I can't be entirely certain I'm_ not _insane._

I exhaled slowly, once again pushing those thoughts away. Dwelling on unanswerable questions wasn't going to do me any good. What was of a more immediate concern was the fact that Aunt Ailala _had_ noticed something off about me, and she likely wasn't the only person who would. It would probably take Uncle Tango and Cila much longer to notice, preoccupied as they were with Ul'dah's reconstruction, while I saw and spoke to Aunt Ailala every evening at dinner now. But that didn't change the inevitable. The question remained: What would they do about their observations, and what would I do to avoid the negative repercussions of this?

 _All right, think about this rationally,_ I ordered myself. In the grand scheme of things, one girl acting differently from what she'd been like before the Calamity, was hardly out of the ordinary. Aunt Ailala herself had only expressed concern for me, not suspicion that I was an entirely different person, since that was a fairly far-out conclusion to reach. It would be simple enough to let them come to their own, natural conclusions: that grief and trauma had caused the changes in me. After all, it was hardly far from the truth.

The part of me that loved and trusted these people wanted to tell them everything, to draw comfort and solace from them, while the part that was fighting to maintain her sanity in the face of an overwhelming tide of homesickness, knew just what a bad idea that would be. No, I could get through this on my own. All I had to do was survive for now, fly under the radar and avoid suspicion until such time as Hydaelyn could or would tell me just what was going on.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought that this was going to take the next _five years_ , at the very least, and pressed my forehead against the smooth wooden paneling that made up the walls of the library, breathing slowly to ease the knot of panic that formed in my gut. It physically hurt, sometimes, the ache of loss that plagued me day and night. I missed Mama, Papa, travelling across the realm, hunting, cooking, and I missed _home_ , the simple leisure of a lazy day spent lying in bed, surfing the Internet, chatting with friends, or listening to music. Sometimes, I wondered just how much more of this I could take. _But then again_ , I thought, opening my eyes and turning back to look at my surroundings, _there's really only one way to find out, isn't there?_

* * *

 _Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 4th Astral Moon, 2nd Sun_

* * *

Work really did help to ease the pain, and so did simply spending time around other people, a fact I didn't truly realise or appreciate until I'd managed to finish healing the last of my injuries and regain complete mobility. Unfortunately, with my nocturnal sleeping habits, I wouldn't have many people to socialise with, for the majority of my waking hours, unless I chose to visit the Gold Brazier guards in charge of the night watch, or the household's maids who were on standby during the night, to tend to any needs of the family that might have arisen. Yet, the idea of distracting people from their jobs, for the sake of mere socialising, felt too frivolous for me, and I chose to avoid doing so.

But now, with my recovery complete, more strenuous work was available to me, including the chance to assist the staff in the single busiest area of the mansion. And thus, on the day that Bango Zango finally returned to his family, almost two months after the Calamity, I was to be found in the kitchens of the mansion, stirring a massive pot of stew, under the watchful eye of Uncle Tango's head chef.

Silver Lining was of an average height and build for a Hellsguard Roegadyn, which was to say that he was twice my height, about four times as wide as me, and ran the risk of hitting me in the head with boiling-hot cooking utensils if neither of us were cautious enough about working in close proximity. Nonetheless, he accepted my presence in his kitchen without much fuss, and wasted no time in putting Siesta's past culinary experience to good use.

Directly after my daily shower, after waking up that evening, I headed straight for the kitchens, as was quickly becoming routine, and was immediately tasked with the supervision of a pot of slow-cooking dodo stew, that would be only one of hundreds going out the next morning, to feed the refugees of the Calamity in the city. Meanwhile, on the stove directly adjacent to mine, Chef Silver, as his other assistants in the kitchen playfully addressed him, was grilling the tender steaks that were destined for the dinner table I would share with Aunt Ailala, later that night.

I found myself humming an idle tune under my breath, as I gave the simmering stew one last stir, before dipping a spoon into it for a sample. The taste of buttery, white poultry meat melted across my tongue, and I took an appreciative breath to savour the flavour, my eyes sliding shut as I concentrated. Chef Silver chuckled.

"Don't eat it all, Miss Siesta; there's much better fare for you elsewhere," he said teasingly, sliding the steaks from his frying pan, onto the dinner plates waiting for them. With the ease of long practice, he set about garnishing them, adding the various sauces and spices often enjoyed by the wealthy nobles of Ul'dah.

"Hardly, Chef Silver," I said, my tone equally mirthful, "I wouldn't miss your cooking for the world." Despite the joking tone of our banter, I truly did mean what I said; in the foreign world I'd been unexpectedly dropped into, the various dishes that Chef Silver prepared every day, for my nourishment, were an oasis of familiarity that served to alleviate my homesickness. A pie, steak, or stew, cooked in Eorzea, tasted almost the same as one cooked on Earth, and every meal I took here, was a soothing reminder of my home. Down here, in the large, airy kitchen cooled by the breezes allowed to blow through it for that purpose, I could smell and taste the very essence of home, surrounded by other kitchen staff who willingly made easy conversation, as they slaved over their craft. For that reason alone, simply being able to work here was an immense comfort, no matter how much Aunt Ailala fretted about me straining myself.

 _But speaking of cooking..._ "I believe this needs some salt," I said, staring down at the stew, which was a pale orange-yellow for the moment, though it would thicken and darken as it cooked.

"Do you, now?" said Chef Silver, looking up from his dishes. I paused as he leaned over, dipping his own spoon into the stew to try it for himself. He gave a hum of consideration, gazing at the wall as he gauged the flavour, and then turned a wry, yet indulgent smile on me. "A few more bells of stewing, and the flavour of the dodo meat will be all the richer for it, but you're quite right, young miss. This stew _could_ use some more salt," he said, but then he shrugged, turning away. "But, that would only serve to enhance the taste, and it's a good, hearty, nourishing stew as it is. Leave it be."

I hesitated, twisting around to stare at the massive sack of salt that was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, next to the door that led to the pantry, well-stocked even in these times. If I had simply been _myself_ , I would've let it go, folded in the face of a higher authority on such matters. Despite having lived here for almost two months already, despite all the welcome, care, and concern that everyone in the household had shown me, I was still uncertain of my place in the mansion. It was only a little salt, after all, but in that same vein _... it's only a little salt._ I bit lightly on my lower lip, and turned back to face Chef Silver, who had moved on to chopping some garlic.

"Surely, we can spare just a bit of salt for this?" I asked, swallowing my trepidation as he paused in his smooth motions, setting down his knife to pin me with his gaze. I was a newcomer in this kitchen, after all, neither a member of the kitchen staff, nor did I actually possess any actual culinary expertise, apart from whatever Siesta had learnt from Mama and Papa. Yet, here I was, openly questioning the head chef's instructions, and no matter if I was now Uncle Tango's ward, I still had to defer to him, here in the kitchen.

"This stew goes to feed the refugees in the city, Miss Siesta. You know that, don't you?" Chef Silver finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I said, fighting the urge to chew on my lip again, and thankful that my voice had managed to steady itself enough for one word. He didn't really seem angry, but his mere stature made him intimidating.

"Our supplies are limited, miss, and quite frankly, these smallfolk ought to be grateful for what we're giving them already. We feed them enough as it is; there's hardly any need for us to care about their tastes," he said, folding his arms across his chest. I suppressed a wince at his words; he was only speaking common sense, after all, as callous as it seemed. In a disaster relief operation, such as ours, was it truly necessary to ensure that the peoples' meals tasted good, instead of merely being nutritious?

Well... no, of course it wasn't. Any sane, rational person would have said as much. Still, I couldn't help but recall just how much of a simple comfort that tasty, well-prepared food was to me, in an otherwise wholly unfamiliar situation. If I could have such fine cuisine, and the many luxuries I enjoyed beyond that, couldn't we spare some salt to provide the refugees of the Calamity with a good meal? It was with the answer to that question in mind, that I found my footing, and firmly met Chef Silver's gaze with my own resolve.

"In times like these, Chef Silver, can't we afford to give the people their small comforts? They've lost so much, and they stand to lose even more. I know it doesn't sound like much, but sometimes, a good meal is all that can give someone the strength to... to just face the day," I said, trying to ignore the growing doubt that gnawed at me, the further into my argument I got. That was what I'd always hated about making arguments based on sentiment: they were nowhere near as convincing as cold, hard, simple facts. And yet, I knew I couldn't and wouldn't live without being affected by my emotions and conscience, so here I was, trying to advocate the feel-good virtues of altruism, in a city of cutthroat merchants.

 _No. It's stupid, but you knew it was, before you even opened your mouth. You're committing to this_ now, I commanded myself. It would've been nice to be able to take a reaffirming breath, but if I was going to make this work, I had to look confident, which meant no sighs of relief. I settled for a slow, silent exhale through my nose, watching Chef Silver as his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Speaking from experience?" he simply said, with a touch of what sounded like realisation. But, now that he mentioned it...

"Yes," I said again, averting my gaze from his, "of course." It was a little dirty, playing on someone's sympathies to get my way, but if it did the trick... _What does it even_ really _cost_ _us, just to provide some people with a bit of cheer?_ It stung, too, to admit just how dependent I was, emotionally as well as physically, on Uncle Tango and Aunt Ailala's generosity in feeding, clothing, and sheltering me, but it was the truth; I would simply have to face it, and all the better if it was for a decent cause.

I was caught off-guard when Chef Silver chuckled suddenly, his stern countenance melting away, back into the friendly supervisor he had been. "You've a kind heart, Miss Siesta, and good intentions, too. Forgive me," he said, catching my confused stare, "but I wanted to see what you would do, when opposed on such a matter."

 _Just a test, then? On something so banal?_ "So, do I pass?" I asked, not quite able to keep the flat sarcasm out of my voice. It was either that, or expressing my irritation with such a meaningless charade. I struggled to pull my mouth into a mirthful smile, but it didn't feel like I'd succeeded. Thankfully, Chef Silver didn't seem to notice, turning to look around his kitchen fondly.

"Indeed, miss," he said, surveying his domain, "you don't back down on matters important to you, do you? You came in here, and worked so quietly these past few days, I wondered if you had any spine of your own at all. But you've certainly proven you do. Generosity such as yours is a rare commodity in these troubled times."

I could only find it annoyingly presumptuous of him, to assume he knew me, simply from a few days of working together and some conversation. But it wouldn't do to antagonise him over something so minor, so I swallowed my irritation, and returned my attention to the cooking pot. "What about the salt, then?" I said, giving the stew another stir, for lack of something to occupy my hands. In the edge of my vision, I watched Chef Silver shrug.

"We can spare some for the stew. It is no less than the duty of every culinarian to create dishes that are a pleasure to consume, as well as nutritious, for that is the essence of our art," he said, and while his words could've sounded like they'd been regurgitated from a slogan, he truly seemed to believe in what he was saying. _Makes sense_ , I supposed, _that the head chef of a noble family would be passionate about his craft._

"Well, all right, then," I said, stepping down from the stool I'd been standing on to reach the cooking pot, but my next movements were interrupted by the breathless entrance of a maid at the door.

"Miss Siesta!" she cried, her face flushed, but joyful. "You must come quickly - Master Bango has returned!" And the breath was stolen from my lungs.

Bango was alive? After all this time, he had survived to return to his family? _When my own is dead?_ Trapped beneath the surge of disbelief, wonder, bitterness, hope, anger, and guilt that this simple message had triggered in me, I remained where I was, staring blankly at the maid. I might have stayed that way forever, had it not been for Chef Silver's heavy, warm hand coming to rest gently on my shoulder. It snapped me out of my trance, and I blinked, turning to him.

"Go on," he said, with an encouraging smile and pat on my shoulder, "go see the young master, miss. I'll take care of the stew."

 _Go on._ Yes, I had to go, I should've been _happy_ about this, not angry or bitter that Uncle Tango's family was safe and sound, while my own was lost to me. With a shaky breath, I packed those feelings away, to be dealt with later, and nodded wordlessly. As I followed the maid out of the kitchen, into the front foyer of the mansion, I focussed on the joy and relief I felt, trying to push it to the front of my thoughts. Negative emotions had no place in such a reunion.

It was a little surprising, though it really shouldn't have been, to enter the foyer to the sound of quiet sobs. I followed the sounds to the sight of Aunt Ailala, clutching desperately to the dusty and bedraggled, but very much alive and whole, form of her firstborn child, and muffling her crying into his shirt, while he patted her back soothingly. As I approached them, Bango Zango looked up at me, and smiled with the same affection that Cila always had for me, mixed with no small amount of relief.

"Siesta," he said, and that was all it took for me to drop to my knees and pull them both into an embrace of my own. Yes, Mama and Papa were dead, and nothing would ever bring them back, but for now, someone we had all believed to be gone, had returned to us. No, it didn't make everything better, nor did it solve any of our problems save for one, but for now, it was enough to turn my artificial attempts at joy into something _real_ , and that was worth taking part in, no matter what.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this far. If you enjoyed it, I do not request that you review, merely that you tell someone else about this story and how you enjoyed it.**


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